


Charades

by ellaliebling



Series: A Constellation of Significances [1]
Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellaliebling/pseuds/ellaliebling
Summary: An invitation to a black tie gala at the Governor’s Mansion was akin to a gallows summons for Nix.Frankly, Dick was starting to understandwhy.What is love but a constellation of significances?
Relationships: Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters
Series: A Constellation of Significances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149896
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	Charades

**Author's Note:**

> Every relationship has its significant moments, whether or not they're recognizable at the time. This is a series of snapshots of those moments, both big and small, in the relationship of Dick and Lew. 
> 
> Series title is from Julian Talamantez Brolaski's, "As the Owl Augurs".
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction based upon the HBO show, with no offense meant towards the real men of the 506th.

“I just feel uncomfortable at these things.” With one finger looped into the collar of his starchy white shirt, Dick tugged like a man who was boiling from the inside out. This was the worst part of working for Nixon Nitration; the consequence that came from attaching himself to the company’s heir apparent. All of the swanning around, the glad handing, the deals made in smokey back rooms with politicians and heads of industry, smoking sweet Cuban cigars and sipping ten year old brandy as if it were tap water.

“I cannot fathom why,” Nix’s voice was hushed, pitched low, gentle fingertips smoothing down the lapels of Dick’s jacket. “You’re a natural at this.”

At that assertion, his lips pursed skeptically—Dick knew flattery when he heard it. Especially coming from Lewis Nixon. The man would say anything to talk him into attending these parties so that he didn’t have to brave them alone.

An invitation to a black tie gala at the Governor’s Mansion was akin to a gallows summons for Nix.

Frankly, Dick was starting to understand _why_.

They were tucked into an alcove out of eyesight of the rest of the partygoers. In Europe, Dick had never lacked confidence. It was that unwavering belief in himself and in the men around him that had ultimately gotten them all through the worst of the war.

The 506th Airborne was all about control. Maintaining it, bowing to it, exerting it.

Lewis Nixon came from a world absolutely devoid of any of that kind of routine control that Dick thrived on—that he had come to rely upon.

“These people don’t trust me.” Still flummoxed, Nix just shook his head. Dick tried again. “I stick out. I’ve never traveled in their circles. I’m here as your plus one—your old army buddy, tagging along to a party like _this_ as your date?”

Never one to let that old argument go, Nix opened his mouth to respond, but Dick plowed on. “I don’t even drink, for goodness sake. I stand here holding my seltzer water and…”

Reaching up swiftly, Nix shushed him with a finger to his lips. The intimacy of the gesture set his nerves on edge, but he didn’t pull away. “Okay, okay—c’mere. I’ve got a trick for you. From my days on the wagon.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, mouth quirking up into a smile despite himself. But he followed as Nix turned and led him back into the fray, the cacophony of noise coming from the New Jersey elite doing its part to make sure their conversation stayed a private one. “Have there been many of those?”

“More than you’d think,” Nix quipped over his shoulder before he sidled up to the bartender across the room. “Sweet tea in a highball, please.”

“ _Unsweetened_.” Dick corrected. “Trying to cut down on the sugar.”

Nix rolled his eyes, leaning heavily against the bar top while he thumbed through his wallet for crisp bills. “ _Fine._ Unsweetened tea. You’re a cheap date, Major.”

The bartender looked from one man to the other with amusement, not saying a word as she poured tea from the pitcher.

“They’ll be able to tell. It doesn’t smell right.”

Nix grinned devilishly, his dark eyes gleaming as he leaned over so that only Dick could hear his whispered words. “Stick with me, baby, and they’ll be sure to smell the whiskey.”

“I’m sure _that’s_ true.”

“Thanks, doll,” ignoring the sarcasm in favor of their audience of one behind the countertop. The wink he aimed at the barmaid gave Dick a reason to roll his own eyes, shaking his head. Nix was a shameless flirt, and absolutely nothing would change him. Not that he had too strong of a desire to change _this_ particular habit—Nix had exhibited far worse in the years Dick had known him.

Not to mention, it helped to prop up the elaborate game of charades that was their lives; gave them a thin veneer of cover. Nix had his house, Dick his own apartment—even if he was never there, it existed. No matter how many times Nix insisted he should just give it up and move in because of how much it would save him in rent, Dick refused to relent. That separation, while largely performative, was integral to the grudging acceptance of everyone around them.

One thing (among many) that frustrated him about Nix was that he never seemed to fully grasp the precariousness of his social standing. As if his society friends would still be there if he was a confirmed queer. He didn’t seem to understand that if anyone found out about them for sure, he’d never be forced to attend another one of these stuffy parties he claimed to hate so much again.

Because he’d never be invited.

So Dick kept his reputation safe for him—as well as he could. Always working to keep as much physical distance between them as Nix would allow, a bare minimum of lingering touches, lingering looks, encouraging him to still go out and have fun on the weekends. Hell, they’d even been on a few double dates.

Painful affairs. The way Nix fell into the role so easily, opening the car door for her and smoothly offering his elbow as they walked into the restaurant. Throwing an arm around her shoulders in the theater, hands touching almost innocently over greasy cardboard cartons of buttered popcorn. Insisting on walking her right to her _door,_ never turning down a kiss offered on the front porch.

 _I’m just playing into it_ , Nix would say when they were alone at the end of the night and he could tell Dick was wounded, _besides, wasn’t this_ your _idea?_ Their eyes met in the mirror while Nix’s fingers fiddled with the knot of the tie at his throat.

 _I never thought you’d enjoy it so much_ , Dick wanted to say. _I never thought you’d be so good at it_.

But instead, he took the few steps to close the space between them, turning Nix around to face him with gentle hands. Reaching for the tie, resigned. _Let me help._

No, for as much as Nix complained about these people, Dick knew he would resent even more being exiled from their ranks. Nix craved attention—acceptance—in a way Dick himself never had, and he was determined to preserve that for Nix, if at all possible. Even if that meant playing charades.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom, and the first fic I've posted in years, so kudos and comments would absolutely make my life. Come see me on tumblr @spookyspeirs


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